


Daughter of the Blackest Heart

by Cantatrice18



Category: The Secret of Moonacre (2008)
Genre: Backstory, Betrayal, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 12:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coeur De Noir always had a soft spot for his only daughter, Loveday. Never in a thousand years would he have suspected her of betraying him, and when she does his revenge is punishment for them both.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daughter of the Blackest Heart

The De Noir family didn’t hold with pretension. The frivolous pastimes of the Merryweathers were always a source of scorn and mockery amongst them, none more so than with Coeur De Noir, the head of the family. But Loveday was different. Coeur De Noir’s only daughter, she grew more graceful and beautiful with each passing year. It was on her seventh birthday that her father realized something must change. He’d known for a while that Loveday was not meant to be a warrior’s bride, good for cooking, cleaning, and bearing children. She was special, and had to be treated that way. The very next day he hired a tutor for her, an old scholar from outside the valley, and her lessons began. She learned to read and write, to recite poetry and discuss philosophy; she learned to ride sidesaddle as well as astride; she learned to waltz and promenade as well as any lady born into society. But her greatest pleasure and accomplishment was her music. She would play the piano for hours on end, never ceasing to enjoy the sound. Other members of the family grumbled, but Coeur De Noir ignored them. His daughter’s laughter when she discovered a new technique or piece of music to play was as valuable to him as the dwindling De Noir treasury. She was his flower, his rose among the thorns. And it was because he treasured her so much that her betrayal destroyed him.

Around the time of her eighteenth birthday, Loveday began to take long rides in the forest. Often she would not return until after nightfall, but her smile was so bright he did not question her. He regretted it every day: if he had stopped her when she first began, perhaps things could have been different. As it was, he had been too preoccupied with his own affairs to see the effect the long rides were having on his daughter. 

One night she did not come home. He spent a sleepless night searching the forest with his men, but could find no trace of her. When she reappeared the next morning his relief was indescribable, but his anger was even stronger. Her excuses that she had been visiting a friend fell upon deaf ears, and he confined her to the castle for a month.

A week later he relented. She had been so sad and forlorn, gazing out the window in silence and refusing to touch her food at meals. Even her piano held no appeal, and the silence cast a pall over the entire house. Finally he could not stand it any longer, and the way she embraced him made him certain he’d done the right thing. If only he had known then.

A month went by. Loveday spent several more nights away from home, but she was careful to send a messenger to the castle informing her father of her whereabouts. He did not suspect her; he believed her incapable of treachery. And so it was not until he overheard the messenger talking one night that he realized something was wrong.

The messenger was a young man of about sixteen. Coeur De Noir was headed to the kitchens to inform the cook about some guests he had coming from the village, when he saw the boy standing in the doorway of the kitchen, flirting outrageously with a servant girl. He smiled knowingly, but froze when he overheard the messenger speak. 

“Come on then: give a lad something to remember you by. It’s a long ride back to my lord’s house.”

“Can’t be all that far,” replied the girl coyly.

“Not far?!” said the young man in mock indignation. “Why, it’s on the other side of the valley, as far as you can get from here and still be in the bounds of Moonacre!”

Coeur De Noir stepped from the shadows, resting a powerful hand on the young man’s shoulder. “That far, is it? And where exactly do you come from, boy? Who is this master of yours.”

He did not need a reply; the young man’s guilty face told him all he needed to know. Thrusting the messenger away, Coeur De Noir turned and strode up the corridor, ignoring all his other duties. He did not leave his study for the rest of the evening, not even to dine with his guests. He was too wrapped up in his own thoughts, the fears and doubts that plagued him. By morning a sense of betrayal had taken over all his other emotions. He ordered that Loveday be brought to him the moment she returned. 

It was not until nearly midday that a servant knocked on the door and ushered Loveday into the room. Coeur De Noir turned and surveyed her coldly. She was wearing a blue riding habit, her favorite color, and her long blonde hair was twisted back into an elegant bun. She was a vision of beauty, but her loveliness could not quiet the rage he felt burning within him. “Where have you been?”

She looked at him in confusion. “I sent a messenger, surely—“

“Answer me!” He could not help shouting. He had longed to scream, to rage at her ever since he found out her deception. When she did not respond he stepped towards her, raising a hand as though to strike her. “Speak, before I condemn you utterly for your lies.”

Loveday’s eyes widened in fear, but she shook her head. “You don’t understand. I can explain – it isn’t as bad as you might think.”

“Not bad?” He laughed coldly. “You have consorted with a Merryweather! You have spent nights at his house, engaging in god knows what sort of depravity!”

“Benjamin would never touch me – he is too much of a gentleman.” 

His arm lashed out of its own accord, striking her across the face with enough force that she staggered and nearly fell. “Do not lie to me! I know what Benjamin Merryweather is, what all Merryweathers are. You have thrown in your lot with them, betraying your family and me.”

“No, Father, please listen to me.” Her voice was soft, imploring. “Don’t you see – this could be a way to end our feud forever, to reunite the two families once and for all. Benjamin has asked me to marry him—“

“Marry him?” Coeur De Noir’s voice was deadly quiet. “Marry one of them? Never. No daughter of mine shall be a Merryweather’s bride. You have already disgraced this family by consorting with him, defiled our name by becoming his lover. Now you would shame us all through your madness? Enough. I will not have it. Leave this house.”

He grabbed her shoulder, shoving her towards the door. “Leave now. Never return, or I swear by all things holy and unholy that I will have you shot for your treachery. Go to your lover, offer yourself to him as the shameless harlot you are.”

He opened the door and dragged her down the hall, deaf to her pleading and tears. He did not stop until he reached the castle gates. “Go,” he commanded, staring at her with hatred and revulsion. “You are no longer my daughter, and this will never again be your home. Go!”

With one final cry of despair, Loveday turned and ran. He watched her until she was out of sight, then walked slowly back to the castle. That night he announced to the assembled family and guests that Loveday was no longer a De Noir. He did not name the reasons for disowning her, but informed them all that his daughter was to be killed if ever she trespassed on De Noir land. Whispers and cries of dismay filled the great hall, but he could not make himself care. He said nothing else, offered no explanation, but retreated to his study that evening. Only then did he let grief take him, and had anyone dared to listen they would have heard the most anguished sobs imaginable. He had lost his daughter, his most precious jewel. He would never again hear the pleasant strains of her voice as she tried out a new melody at the piano, never feel her warmth as he embraced her. And it was through his mistakes, his indulgence that he’d lost her. This was what “refinement” did to a person: made them forget their duty to the people that loved them the most. Well, he would never make such a mistake again. 

In the morning he ordered that Loveday’s piano and all of her music be burned. Her dresses were to be taken apart, the fabric used for other things. Every trace of her was to be erased. As far as the world was concerned, it would be as though he’d never had a daughter. And it was right that way, he reasoned. He’d always been better with sons.


End file.
